


August Dragon Age Prompts

by SerenityFalconNormandy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alienage Improvements, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Mysticism, Dragon Age Quest: Broken Circle, Dread Wolf Beliefs, F/M, Hawke wants to help, High Dragon - Freeform, Search for the cure, The Bone Pit, dalish magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-20 09:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15531741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenityFalconNormandy/pseuds/SerenityFalconNormandy
Summary: August Camp NaNo since July was Comic Con month!This collection is all the Dragon Age prompts.Beta'd and edited by IncreasingLight, wonderful person that she is.





	1. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’m never letting you go.”
> 
> Gwyneth is preparing to leave Denerim to find a cure for the Warden taint. Alistair comes to say goodbye.

Almost everything personal in her quarters was in the process of being packed away. Gwyneth stood in the middle of the chaos, wringing her hands as she tried to direct maids and footmen. The anxiety knotting her stomach spiked frequently, and there was nowhere she could escape from the madness to calm it. Even her bedchamber was a hive of activity, with the linens being stripped from the goose down mattress and a durable, decorative canvas coverlet being laid over it while her personal effects were packed into crates.

 

Maker, she would have to say goodbye to the children, to Duncan, to _Alistair_ soon. She didn’t want to. Gwyn didn’t want to leave, but she had to. She was safe from the Calling thanks to the twist of fate that had given her Duncan. Alistair was still in danger of being Called to the Deep Roads, to die alone amidst the corruption and Blightcreep. By the Bride, she was glad that Nate, Velanna, Oghren, and Sigrun had all described their Calling in their letters. Without the evidence that they were all the same, Alistair never would have listened to her, and she would be the regent for a little girl, trying to hold Ferelden together until Moira was old enough to rule on her own. Gwyn was doubly blessed because none of them would leave for the Deep Roads without word from her, and the letters stating that the Calling they were hearing seemed to be wrong had gathered all of them at Soldier’s Peak. They would accompany her in her search for a cure.

 

“His Majesty, the King!” The cry came from the hallway through the open door of her quarters.

 

The maids and footmen immediately went silent, dropping whatever they were doing to curtsey or bow to Alistair as he entered the sitting room. Gwyneth stepped through them carefully, then swept into a low curtsey. “Your Majesty.”

 

“So, it’s actually happening, Lady Gwyneth?” He frowned at the mess of wooden crates and half-dismantled quarters.

 

“Indeed so, Your Majesty.” She straightened from her curtsey, habit smoothing her face to a pleasant, blank mask.

 

His lips pressed together. Gwyn could see him struggling with the need to keep her there with him, and the necessity of letting her go. Pulling his hands from where they had been clenched at the small of his back, he took hers. “Everyone, give me a moment with Lady Gwyneth?”

 

Wide-eyed, the servants hustled out of the room. As soon as the door shut, Gwyn knew the gossip would start. At the moment, feeling the tremors in Alistar’s hands, she didn’t give a fig if rumors flew while she was gone. They touched foreheads, and he breathed out, “Maker’s breath, Gwyn, how will I survive without you? I’ll go mad with worry.”

 

“You’ve got Teagan and Fergus to help you, Ali-love. The children need you. I tried to explain to Duncan why I had to go, and I don’t think he understands. While I’m gone-” she cut herself off on a sharp sob, “While I’m gone, you’re all he has.”

 

“When you come back, Gwyn, because I do not accept any scenario where you don’t, I’m never letting you go again.”

 

“I said the same thing when you went haring off with Varric Tethras, if you recall, but here I am, breaking that promise by leaving you.”

 

His hands, calloused from the daily practice he still kept to with sword and shield, cupped her face. “That’s not what I mean, Gwyn. I swear by the Maker, when you come back, I’m going to marry you like I should have years ago.”

 

“But-”

 

“No, Gwyn. I let you step aside and arrange for me to marry Elissa for the good of the kingdom. Things are different now. You’re the Hero of Ferelden. You’ve been the Chancellor for close to a decade. Let’s do something for us when you get back.”

 

Gwyn smiled. He was still so optimistic. The title of Hero and the near-decade of being Chancellor hadn’t changed that she was still an elf, and a mage. She had never been less in his eyes for either of those. The continuing issues it lead to with trade delegations and the Chantry emphasized that no one else overlooked it. She would let him have this moment, believing that they would be able to be married when all was said and done. “If you say so.”

 

“I’ll petition the Divine if I have to, Gwyn. She might say yes just to get a break from Elemina and Ceorlic.”

 

At that, she broke into laughter. “They’re _still_ sending petitions?”

 

“As dependable as the sun rises and sets.”

 

“Andraste’s ankle mole, they must be driving her up the wall.”

 

“Leliana wrote me about it a few weeks ago.” He leaned in conspiratorially, “They just use them as kindling for the evening fires now, and have one of the secretaries write out a stack of ‘Thank you for your request, but no.’ form letters every few weeks to send back when they get one.”

 

“So you think that means she’ll let an elf mage become queen, hmm?”

 

“I’d hope so, I’ve done an awful lot of heroic and kingly things.”

 

“That you have, Ali-love.” The smile fell off her face, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

 

“I’m never letting you go. Once you’re back, you’re not leaving me again, Gwynnie, I swear.”

 

She pretended she couldn’t feel his tears on her neck as she clung to him.

 


	2. The Perils of Being Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'm not going anywhere."
> 
> Marian visits Merrill in the Alienage to talk to her about moving to a nicer part of Kirkwall at Varric's insistence.

“Tumbles, please, you gotta talk to Daisy. She made enough from the expedition to get outta that shack in the alienage and into a place that’s safer.” 

 

Marian raised a dark brow, “Using that nickname isn’t exactly going to get you anywhere with me, Varric.”

 

“Haaaaaaawke.” Varric tried to do Big Sad Eyes, but mostly looked like he had seen something he couldn’t unsee. “This is for Daisy’s sake. You love Daisy.”

 

“That I do. I also acknowledge she’s a grown-ass woman who can make her own decisions.” She stared at the mug of ale in her hand as Varric sat back in surprise. How many had she drunk now? “That came out much meaner than it sounded in my head.”

 

“Look, at least talk to her about it?”

 

“All my drinks for the next month are on you?”

 

“If that’s what it takes, yes.”

 

“Deal.”

 

“You drive a hard bargain, Marian Hawke.”

 

She chuckled as she stood up, and pressed a kiss to the top of the grumbling dwarf’s head. “I love you too, Varric.”

 

Marian swung her halberd into its sling, and started towards the alienage. She only slipped once on the stairs into the cramped corner of Kirkwall, and managed to catch herself instead of taking a header, which made her proud. Cats-eyes flashed from behind curtains hastily pulled back to see who the human invader was. The elves recognized Marian now, and knew she was one of the few humans in Kirkwall who treated them with respect and courtesy, so the curtains were readily dropped.

 

She thunked her fist on Merrill’s door, heavy hardwood Varric had paid to have brought in from the Planasene Forest, reinforced with a heavy steel lock.    
  


“Just a moment!” Merrill’s bright chirp still managed to carry through, and the door swung open. “Hawke! I wasn’t expecting you! Come in!”

 

“Varric asked me to stop by and make sure everything’s still going well.” Marian stepped in, toeing off her boots to avoid tracking dust and mud on the floor. She was pretty sure Merrill got on her hands and knees and scrubbed the slate tiles with a bristle brush at least twice a week. The halberd was leaned next to Merrill’s ‘walking stick’ in the entryway.

 

“I’m so sorry it’s such a mess, I swear it’s clean sometimes! But yes, I am well, and I have no intention of leaving my home.” 

 

Marian smiled at Merrill’s firm tone, “You call this a mess? I’m pretty sure I could eat off your floors, Merrill. If I tried that anywhere else in Kirkwall, I’d be dead of the wasting in less than a week.”

 

Merrill flushed red under the charcoal lines of her vallaslin, gesturing at her table, buried in books and stacks of parchment. “But the books and papers…”

 

“You’re studious, I’ll give you that.” The elf beamed. “Are you sure you won’t at least consider moving to one of the nicer parts of Lowtown? You’d be safer there, and closer to the markets where you’re less likely to get lost.”

 

“Oh, Hawke…” Merrill sat down heavily at the table. “I know you and Varric mean well. I do. But I can’t abandon the other elves here. For most of them the venadhal is the only connection they have to our heritage. I trained for most of my life to be a Keeper. Sabrae won’t have me… but I can do some good here. Share our heritage and give them a connection to the past while we look to our future. The hahren approves, too. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“Very well.” Marian plopped down across from her, legs splayed and hands folded on her stomach.

 

Merrill blinked owlishly. “You’re--not going to argue?”

 

“Nope! I told Varric you’re a grown woman who can make her own decisions, and I said I would talk to you about it. I never said I would argue with you about it. I got a whole month of drinks on him at the Hanged Man out of it, too.”

 

Clapping her hands over her mouth to smother her laughter, Merrill kicked back in the chair. Her shoulders were shaking from the force of the giggles erupting from her. Wrapped feet swung back and forth as they bubbled through her whole body. 

 

“That funny, eh?”

 

“You’re brilliant!”

 

“I have my moments. But I do have an idea that might get Varric to calm down.”

 

“Oh?” Her ears perked, and Merrill sat forward, resting her elbows on a thick tome while weaving her fingers together and settling her chin on them. “What’s your idea?”

 

“You’re a shockingly wealthy elf after the expedition, and I know you’ve let Varric handle all of your investments.”

 

“Yes? That’s why he wants me to move.”

 

“Why not put that money into improving the alienage? You know, importing lumber to help rebuild and reinforce the buildings, or replace them with brick and such? I’ll match whatever you put in with the money I’ve kept aside as my own after getting the estate for Leandra and setting her up. Clean it from top to bottom and re-paint, maybe get heating and cooling runes from the Gallows for summer and winter? I remember you saying that last year several of the older elves passed because of the heat during the summer.”

 

Merrill’s eyes widened with each suggestion. “You would really put money towards that, Hawke? Towards helping us?”

 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? I can’t fix all of what’s wrong with Kirkwall, but I’ll fix what I can.”

 

“You’re a wonderful friend, Hawke. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Merrill reached over the stack of parchment between them to rest her fingers on Marian’s shoulder.

 

“Well, you probably wouldn’t have giant spider guts in your hair on a weekly basis, I bet.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You don’t know what trouble we Dalish can get into when we put our minds to it.”

  
  



	3. The Bone Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Just breathe, okay?"
> 
> Fun times with a high dragon in the Bone Pit.

“Just breathe, okay?”

 

“ _ Whoof. _ ” She went flying through the air, breath rushing from her lungs as ribs splintered. Marian had always wanted to fly, and she admired dragons, even wanted to be one after seeing Flemeth turn into one. However, being sent flying  _ by _ a dragon was not on her list of things she’d always wanted. 

 

Marian lay on the gravel in the Bone Pit, gasping for breath. The high dragon that had killed most of the miners reared over her, filling her entire field of vision. She couldn’t draw a full breath, couldn’t move for the pain in her chest.  _ So this is how I end. Crushed by a high dragon. At least it will be an amazing story for Varric to tell. _

 

The smell of hot lyrium wafted past, Fenris in a full rage tearing back and forth with his sword, harrying at the dragon’s legs and ankles. A loud twang followed by the dragon’s shriek and it twistedQ to the side, one giant claw landing so close to her that it showered her with dust and grit. Sebastian let out a shout of triumph at the hit. 

 

“Marian!”

 

Fenris’s terrified snarl had her flipping her hand weakly in the air, showing that she was okay, if mostly immobile. A barrier sprang up over her, Anders hurdling her body to help herd the dragon further away from her prone form. Spiked vines whipped out of the ground, yanking it out of her field of vision while Merrill cried, “Hold on, Hawke!”

 

She felt a tug on her collar, “I gotcha, Tumbles, let me just get you outta the way before the dragon finishes you off.”

 

Marian groaned at her loved and hated nickname, and the rocks that dug into her back as Varric dragged her out of the line of fire. She heard Aveline cursing and yelling at Fenris to look out for the dragon’s tail, which was what had sent her flying and cracked Maker knew how many ribs. 

 

“Here you go, Hawke. No danger of getting stepped on over here unless Aveline and Broody completely muck things up. Once the dragon’s taken care of, Blondie’ll get you patched up and you’ll be okay. Just breathe, okay?”

 

She nodded and focused on breathing through the pain. It wasn’t fair, though. Dragons were her thing, and here she was, guarding dirt on the far end of the quarry from the action. She wanted to make the scaly bastard pay for all the people it’d killed. Marian closed her eyes and let out a pained moan. All the people she’d hired…

 

So much of the time after the Qunari tore the city apart had been spent making sure the mine was considered a good place to work. Despite Hubert’s complaining, Marian had made sure the wages were good, some of the highest for laborers in Kirkwall. Anders had helped her set up a medical clinic that the miners and their families could use, and afford. Most of her personal profit from the mine went into establishing pensions for spouses and children whose loved ones perished in the inevitable accidents, and Varric had gotten experts from Orzammar to come and advise on mine safety to prevent as many of those accidents as possible. 

 

The Maker-damned dragon had killed almost all of her employees. Blighted Hubert would wail about the money lost, as if that was more important than the men and women who had died. The Kirkwallers and Fereldans, both humans and elves were far more important to her than a few more sovereigns to her name. Marian didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt Varric pat her knee. “It’s okay, Hawke, just let ‘em out. I imagine a dragon tail to the chest isn’t the most pleasant experience.”

 

Despite the sharp pain that resulted, she let out a snort and flipped him off. Damn dwarf, making her laugh. Varric chortled in return. “If you can still give me the bird, you’re gonna be fine. Don’t worry, when I write about this, the dragon will go down before you’re too injured to move.”

 

A tremor ran through the ground when the dragon finally collapsed. Fenris was hovering over her seconds later. “Marian, it is done. Are you hurt badly?”

 

“She hasn’t said a word and didn’t get up, of course she’s hurt badly. Move, I need to heal her.” Anders shouldered Fenris aside, and started running his hands over her chest, noting her flinches and gasping breathing. Marian groaned as she felt her ribs moving back into place, the bones knitting back together and abused lung tissue rebuilding itself. 

 

When he was done, Fenris shouldered in to help her up. “Thank you, Anders, Fenris.”

 

“This dragon managed to horde an awful lot in a short amount of time,” Merrill chirped from atop the corpse. “I don’t think I could spend it all.”

 

“It’ll make you and Broody the two richest elves in the Free Marches, Daisy. You can use it for the alienage.”

 

Coughing out some of the dust inhaled during the fight against the dragon, Marian croaked out, “My share is going to the miners’ families. It’s my fault they were here.”

 

“Hawke.” Aveline let out a frustrated growl, “You’re the reason this Maker-forsaken mine is considered one of the best places to work in Kirkwall. Don’t beat yourself up over something you had no control over.”

 

_ Too late. _


	4. Dread Wolf Never Catch Your Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Stay here tonight." 
> 
> A member of Hawen's clan has been scented by the Dread Wolf. Fen'lath performs a rite to throw him off her scent. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Listen to Alfadhirhaiti by Heilung to hear the music this is based on)

“Stay here tonight.” Keeper Hawen’s face was serious as he made the request.

 

“Keeper?” Fen’lath noticed the stress in his voice, the worry and pleading tone that was in it as well.

 

He ran a hand over his hair, other hand fisted at his hip, “Your companions can stay as well if that’s what it takes, but we need you to stay, _da’len._ One of my tanners… she has been Scented.”

 

“Ah. I will help, of course.” She gave the Keeper an uneasy smile. It was only the second time in her life she would be called upon as a _Harel’len_ to divert the Dread Wolf from someone’s scent. “Do you have all the necessities? I can provide some of what’s needed, but I’m sure you can understand why I don’t have all of it.”

 

“We have all of it. We had a _Harel’len_ who went to Falon’Din a few years ago, and kept all of his ritual supplies.”

  
“Hmm. I will use my own clothing, then. I will let my companions know we are staying in your camp tonight.”

 

“Would you wish for them to watch? I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that.”

 

“Only if you grant them permission, Keeper. Our secrets are not for any old eyes, but these three I trust with my life and some Dalish secrets.”

 

“I will think on it while we prepare, _da’len._ ”

* * *

Bull and Dorian had set up camp on the outskirts of the Dalish camp, and the Keeper had, much more kindly than Fen had expected, advised that the ritual wasn’t for non-elven people. Hawen had invited Solas. He didn’t say it, but Fen got the impression that he wanted her arcane advisor to feel a connection to the old ways.

 

Fen stood at the outer edge of the ring of seated elves, the tanner in question seated in the center, dressed only in a tunic of unbleached cotton. A trench had been dug and filled with lumber, kindling, and lumps of resin that would give off thick clouds of black smoke. Fen plucked at the white wolf fur edging her leather tunic, and brushed a nervous hand over the strands of wolves’ teeth and shards of carved bone that decorated it.

  


Solas sat apart, a break in the ring with space for at least three on either side. As Hawen spoke with his First and Second, Fen sat next to him. His mouth turned down in disapproval, “Do you really believe that Fen’harel has somehow marked or cursed this woman, and you can divert his attention from her?”

 

“Does it really matter what I believe, Solas?”

 

His brow rose as he turned to face her. “How so?”

 

“I don’t have to believe that the rite works. What’s important is that _she_ believes that the rite frees her, and that her clan believes she’s been freed from Fen’harel’s attentions. I am required to do nothing beyond the rite, let alone believe in it myself.”

 

“That is… not what I had expected, Fen.”

 

“I aim to do the unexpected.” She gave him a tense smile. “Perhaps if my _hah’ren_ had treated me with the same honor other _Harel’len_ receive from their clans, I might be a believer. As it stands, I am doing what I can to help a distraught woman remain with her clan.”

 

“ _Da’len_ , it is time.” Hawen handed her a wolf pelt.

 

“Stay, and just watch, please.” A delicate hand stopped Solas from standing to leave. Others of the clan moved to specific place, pulling wolf pelts over their heads, taking out bodhrans, rattles, and rasp instruments, and sitting down. She didn’t know what to make of the look on Solas’s face as he took it all in, especially the black wolf pelts with the stitched red eyes of the Dread Wolf on them.

 

Fen walked over to the trembling woman, Vissi,  in the center of the circle, and knelt. “I’m going to drape this pelt over you, all right?”

 

She simply nodded, keeping her head down and knees clasped to her chest. Fen placed it over her shoulders and head, showing the glossy white fur and eyes of emerald green stitched onto it, a contrast to the red of Fen’harel’s.

 

Hawen handed his _dhal’Mythal_ staff to Fen, then stepped back to his place in the circle and sitting. She clasped her hands around the haft meditatively. With a deep breath, she circled, shooting fireballs carefully over the seated elves’ heads into the trench starting in the north and moving clockwise. When the ring of flame was completed, Fen nodded to Hawen, who stood up while pulling his own wolf pelt over his head.

 

The members of the clan holding bodhrans stood up and started drumming. Hawen started chanting, then Fen and some of the pelted members of the clan started howling and snarling like a pack of wolves. Specific chanters joined in, those who had trained in throat chanting. As the buzzing and drumming wove and rose, Fen began to dance around Vissi, moving like the smoke starting to weave from the flames surrounding them.

 

A pause, a call to Dirthamen’s ravens, Fear and Deceit. Summoning them to banish the fear of Fen’harel’s presence and deceive the Dread Wolf with Fen’s presence. The rasp instruments were stroked, imitating the quorking cry of ravens. The whole of the clan was standing, either chanting, playing an instrument, or stomping to the beat.

 

Fen’s dancing went from weaving smoke to a huntress’s movements, staff held like a spear as she wove around in the dance she’d been trained in since she could walk. The drums settled into a hypnotic rhythm, with the raven quorking again. Leaping to Hawen, Fen laid the staff at his feet then ran at Vissi, sweeping the pelt from her shoulders and over her own, while in the same motion sweeping the black cloak Vissi had been sitting on over her, hiding her from sight. Her movements changed from huntress to wolf, slinking through the smoke that shifting air billowed at her. Still, her movements were in rhythm with the sibilant pulse of the drums and chanting.

 

It wound up, more intense, louder, a throbbing echo across the Plains, and the shouted climax ended with Fen sweeping down at Hawen’s feet, poised like a puppy begging an elder wolf to play, while at the same time the three mages of the clan doused the fire in ice. In the blindness caused by the sudden absence of light, the members of the clan including the Keeper who were wearing the wolf pelts turned and looked outward from the circle, becoming representations of the Fen’harel statues on the edges of the camp. Fen stood and led Vissi out of the ring while none of the clan could see them.

 

Leading her down to the river, they both stripped and scrubbed down, getting the scent of the smoke out of their hair and off their skin. They didn’t exchange any words, and when they dressed, Fen put on Vissi’s tunic, bundling her own clothes under her arm. Shivering from the chill, Vissi wrapped herself up in the cloak, covering herself from head to toe. The camp was much as any camp would be at this late hour on any other night, only the watch shift stirring, and studiously avoiding looking at Vissi and Fen when they approached.

 

Fen silently led Vissi to her aravel, then went to the bonfire in front of the Keeper’s aravel and stripped off the tunic, leaving her in leggings and breastband. She took up a bundle of sage and rue that had been rolled and stuck through a ring of sylvanwood, and wrapped it in the tunic, then threw it in the fire.

 

She walked quickly to her tent and crawled in next to Solas, tucking the clothing she’d been wearing during the rite into her pack. Fen could feel the questions radiating from him. “Not now, Solas. Please. I need sleep first.”

 

“As you wish, _vhenan_.”

 


	5. Musings of an Ex-Templar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You're more than that.
> 
> Alistair tries to come to terms with what he witnessed in the Kinloch Circle Tower.

Alistair watched Gwyneth as Carroll, the lyrium-daft sod, rowed them back across Lake Calenhad. She had withdrawn into herself, not hearing Leliana speaking to the new mage, Wynne. Hero had managed to get a modicum of attention, one slim hand curling around the nub of an ear and rubbing while he lolled out his tongue and panted. Alistair’s own attempts to connect with her and make sure she was okay weren’t getting through.

 

_Say something clever, make her laugh, you idiot._

 

Looking at her again, he didn’t think she’d appreciate his odd sense of humor at the moment. He could only imagine what she was going through. All of his training to become a Templar still hadn’t prepared him for… that. Alistair felt a shudder wrack his body, remembering being in the thrall of the Sloth demon, the sad, resigned look on Gwyn’s face when she confronted the demonic Goldanna to reveal its true nature. She had wanted for him to have the happy family. He wondered what she had seen. How had Gwyn figured out they were trapped in a nightmarish construct Sloth had created in the Fade?

 

When he had asked in the Tower, she had only turned those big owl-eyes of hers to him and whispered that they needed to get moving, the other mages were depending on them.

 

_Maker, most of her friends died or became abominations._

 

The Tower had been a horror for him, a non-mage outsider. It must have been worse than Redcliffe had been for him. The people he cared about were still alive. One of her friends, that mage named Solona, was alive, one named Anders was missing (but apparently that wasn't much of a surprise), and the rest were either unaccounted for or verifiably dead. Then, there’d been Cullen.

 

Alistair vaguely remembered Cullen from the monastery. Although he himself was older, Cullen had advanced through the training ranks far faster because he’d actually _wanted_ to be there. Cullen also wasn’t being reprimanded for pulling pranks and being bored all the time. Alistair did recall talking to him briefly before the outing where he’d decided he was better off not leading after getting his squad lost and losing his pants. He’d asked Cullen what he thought of Templars being jailers for mages, and the other teenager had looked at him in horror.

 

_“Templars aren’t meant to be jailers. Mages can’t help that they were born mages. We’re meant to protect them while they learn, and save them from themselves if they fall to temptation.”_

 

Oh, how Cullen’s tune had changed.

 

_“And to think.., I once thought we were too hard on you.”_

 

When Cullen had said that, Gwyn’s wide eyes had gone even bigger, she’d reared back as if she’d been slapped, and gone pale. Alistair had heard rumors of what Templars could get away with, even in the good Circles. Random beatings, assaults, false accusations of blood magic. What had Gwyn been through at Kinloch? He had tried to talk to her, reassure her, but she’d shouldered him off.

 

_“We need to get going. If Irving is dead… we’ll have no choice. I won’t be able to stop the Knight-Commander from killing everyone.” Gwyn’s eyes unfocused, and she touched the ribbon one of the surviving apprentices, a little girl who wasn’t yet five if she was a day, had solemnly tied around her wrist for good luck. “I can’t let that happen.”_

 

He knew what she meant. Alistair had seen the bodies of the mages who hadn’t survived Uldred’s uprising. The vast majority of them hadn’t been turned, and hadn’t been slain by the Templars they were locked in with. No, their bodies were marked with long gashes from abomination claws. The mages had died fighting to defend their home and friends against the blood mage coup. He had been sick to his stomach in the apprentice’s quarters, seeing the bodies of children who were far too young, who had met their end far too early fighting the monsters of their worst nightmares. Leliana had ended up excusing herself to vomit in a corner, the horrific reality of what the mages had faced without any support from the Templars shaking her to her core.

 

The boat bumped up against the dock, and Hero leaped out first, claws scrabbling on the wood planks as he greeted solid ground once again. Alistair clambered out, not the easiest thing to do in plate, and then turned back to help Wynne out. She smiled and patted his cheek after she gained her footing on the dock. He flushed, ducking his head and then reaching down for Leliana. Gwyn was still closed off when he helped her onto the dock.

 

“Thank you.”

 

It was the first she had spoken since Kinloch’s doors had rumbled closed behind them. “You’re welcome, Gwyn.”

 

She nodded, eyes focused on the dock, and gestured for all of them to follow her to the Spoiled Princess. The innkeep remembered them, offered rooms for half the normal fee, and sent Felsi to fill the baths in each room. Alistair thunked down at one of the tables, staring at the ale the innkeep had shoved into his hands. Now he understood why Templars would take lyrium until the haze blocked everything but the immediate few hours from their memory. He would give anything to remove the memories of those too-small corpses from his mind, the sickly sour-sweet odor of abominations, and Gwyn’s face when she’d turned to him after they were out of Cullen’s earshot and said, “If I… give in, please, don’t hesitate to end it. I don’t want to hurt anyone like… this. Of course, I’m just another mage, so I guess to an ex-Templar, I’m expendable.”

 

_“You’re more than that.”_

 

_“Me, or mages in general?”_

 

_“Both.”_

 

Gwyn had scoffed, and then swallowed, steeling herself to enter the Harrowing chamber. Alistair slammed the whole tankard of ale in one gulp. Damn the Order.


End file.
